Warbler
by Eowyn Rain
Summary: Kurt is going through some odd changes. Blaine has been there before, and plans to help every step of the way. wing!Fic Not AU
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

Hello again lovely Readers! I have another fic, written for the One Sentance prompt over at Kurt_Blaine Livejournal.

The original prompt asked for either Kurt or Blaine to have wings. This is what my crazy brain came up with. Enjoy! =D

**Disclaimer:** I wish I owned Glee. Alas, I do not. =(

* * *

Kurt was scared.

No, not merely scared,** _terrified_**.

It had all started three days before, when he was feeding Pavarotti.

He was always so careful with his new little friend, but while he was still trying to be watchful as possible, something went a little wrong that day.

While he was trying to put the bird seed into the feeder, Pavarotti pecked his finger.

The little canary pecked him hard enough to draw a drop of blood.

He was shocked, and a little mad at the bird, but he let it go. It wasn't like the blood stained his new cashmere scarf, let alone his Dalton blazer. The droplet stayed at the tip of his finger, not even enough to drip onto the floor.

After carefully dabbing his finger with a wet nap, he bandaged it up, and did what he always did on Fridays. He packed his little red suitcase, and headed for home.

It was Saturday morning when he first started to feel...strange.

His back was killing him. He tried to take some Advil to make it go away. It only dulled the pain, but the bone deep ache, and pressure didn't go away.

Midday, Carole made him take his temperature, because he was looking flushed, and he complained that he was _freezing, _even though he had covered himselfin a mound of blankets.

With a temperature of 102 degrees, Kurt was forced back into bed, and to drink plenty of fluids.

The pain in his back was becoming unbearable, but he really didn't want to worry his Dad or Carole anymore than he had to. It was too high up to possibly be kidney related, and while ragged due to the fever and pain, his breathing was fine, so that ruled out a possible lung infection. He figured that he must have caught the flu from one of his classmates, and was just now showing the nasty symptoms. The flu was known to give the body aches and pains, chills, and a fever.

It had to be the flu, he surmised, because it was better to think that he had the flu, instead of... thinking something else was happening to him.

He was feeling a little better on Sunday. His temperature had gone back to normal, and while he was a little on the pale side, the ache in his back was more like some uncomfortable pressure. He could live with that, maybe even get a pass after school to get a massage at his favorite spa.

That night, when he got back to Dalton, he greeted his friends, retrieved Pavarotti from Blaine, (he didn't want to take the bird with him all the way to Lima, and Blaine was more than happy to bird-sit), watched two episodes of _Doctor Who_ with him, and when he went to sleep that night, he slept on his side, cuddling up to his pillow, thinking about the curly haired boy of his dreams.

Monday morning, all hell broke loose.

He awoke, alone in his dorm, to his own screams.

His back. Something was terribly wrong with his back!

He felt like ten thousand tiny knives were slicing through his bones, tissue, and skin.

He didn't know what to do. Call for help? He could barely stop screaming!

Had be been stabbed?

Did he somehow fracture his vertebrae?

Pull some tendons?

Bruise his spine without knowing it?

After a while, when nobody tried to bust his door in, to rescue him from his pain, Kurt curled himself into a ball on his bed, and buried his face into his pillow, to muffle to sounds of his growing terror.

It was when all the pressure seemed to just **burst**, and there was a sickening popping noise, that Kurt's world went dark.

When he came to, the pain was gone.

He blinked, and tried to take in what had happened. He slowly stood up, and nearly vomited at the sight of blood on his floor and sheets.

Kurt was really starting to get scared. What the hell just happened to him?

It was when he took sight of himself in the mirror, that he screamed all over again.

There Kurt stood in his ruined sleep shirt, falling over his shoulders, drooping at his chest, and clinging to his biceps. There were so many rips and tattered tears, obviously torn open from the back, blood smeared all over the expensive blue cloth.

That wasn't what caught Kurt's attention so vividly. While that sight alone was enough to horrify the teen, his gaze was centered behind him, over his shoulders, and up.

Kurt stared, mouth agape in shock.

Wings.

White, fluffy, feathery wings were stretched majestically behind his back. What stood before the mirror could have easily been a perfect statue of a weeping angel, not that of  
a frightened boy, standing in his dorm room.

Kurt fainted again.

A little later in the day, Kurt finally remembered that there had been a scheduled assembly that morning, and likely nobody would have been in his dorm building to hear him. He also remembered his Dad saying that he would call the school and tell them that he had been pretty sick over the weekend. Everyone must have assumed that Kurt needed his rest, and didn't want to bother him.

This actually bought him time, he thought, until he could figure out what to do.

He tried the first thing that popped into his head.

He Googled his symptoms.

It took all of ten minutes for Kurt to berate himself for his utter stupidity.

He then tried to clean himself up, and get into a fresh change of clothes.

This proved to be a really big problem.

His newly sprouted wings kept getting in the way, and he found out the hard way that he would have to watch the items on the desk when he was turning around.

He settled for jeans, and no shirt, much to his chagrin.

The rest of his time, he cleaned up the mess, as best as he could, and tried not to have a massive break down over what was going on with him.

He was having a really hard time with the second part of his plan.

People were obviously starting to worry about him around lunch.

Many of the guys, and even a teacher, knocked on his door, asking if he was alright, and if he needed anything. Trying to hide the hysteria in his voice, he told them that he didn't feel well, but that he was alright.

It was the third time that Blaine came around, that he insisted to come in. Kurt could tell that Blaine knew something was wrong. He always did. He understood Kurt better than anybody ever seemed to. Most of time, that detail made Kurt feel giddy with jittery butterflies flying in his stomach. This time, on the other hand, he didn't know how to deal with his friend at the moment, and he honestly didn't want to think of anything flying about.

When Kurt refused to let Blaine in, the dapper teen told him that he was going to sit outside the door, as long as it took, until Kurt opened the door.

An hour later, after hearing his friend talk to him through his dorm, Kurt broke down, crying, sitting parallel Blaine on the door.

"Kurt, please _please_, let me help you!"

Blaine cried, tears starting to fall down his cheek.

"Just tell me what happened! Tell me what I can do! PLEASE!"

It only made Kurt cry harder.

"There is nothing you can do for me Blaine! I don't even know what to do!"

A sickening thought crossed Blaine mind.

"Oh God, Kurt, it isn't...Karofsky, is it? Did he do something to you while you were at home?"

This made Kurt pause with confusion. Strangely enough, for the first time in many months, the Neanderthal was the farthest thing from his mind. After taking a second to process what Blaine meant by that, his eyes widen. While he was going through something traumatic, for sure, it was important to Kurt to assure the boy he deeply cared about, that he was fine in that respect.

"No! No no _no_, Blaine, nothing like that! I promise! I wasn't beaten or...violated."

Blaine sighed with that little relief. Knowing that wasn't harmed, he doubled his fortitude to find out what was going on.

"If it's nothing like that, then what is going on?"

He shifted his body, laid his palm against the door, and pressed his cheek to the wood.

"You can tell me anything Kurt. Anything. I promise. I won't judge you, at all. You can trust me. Please trust me. I'll take care of it...take care of you, if you just let me in."

Kurt, hugging himself tightly, feeling a feather brush his cheek, believed him, and wanted nothing more than to throw his door open. He plucked his feather, brushed the bridge of his nose with it's softness, and dropped it to the floor. With a slight gust of wind from the vents, the feather gently floated under the door, onto Blaine's hand.

Puzzled, Blaine picked up the startlingly soft feather. Where had this come from? He knew for a fact that Kurt didn't have down pillows or blankets. (Hey! It's not strange, he and Kurt studied in his dorm, on his bed sometimes!)  
Also, this feather was long and white, so it couldn't be Pavarotti's, so where did it...

Realization shook Blaine to the core.

Hesitantly, Blaine asked,

"Uh, Kurt? Have you...have you by any chance...?

Kurt, getting up, preparing to open the door, replied,

"Have I what?"

"...been having a lot of back pain?"

Kurt froze.

"...yes?"

Blaine's eyes widened.

"Oh God...how about any strange...growth spurts?"

Kurt looked up at the tip of his right wing.

"...you could say that."

Blaine scrambled to stand up, palm and forehead against the wood.

"Kurt, open the door."

When he finally got to see Kurt, he gasped at the most beautiful sight.

The usual elegance and grace Kurt seemed to exude was still there, yes, but unlike the handsome boy he was used to seeing, (daytime, and in his dreams), this hallowed creature was haloed by the midday light coming from the window, his eyes bright and wet, normal porcelain cheeks blushing pink , hair in disarray, instead of perfectly combed. The most stunning fact was that the gorgeous boy was half naked, with magnificent snowy wings protruding from his back. To Blaine, at that very moment, Kurt resembled both that of an angel, and something that belonged in the hottest of wet dreams.

Kurt, unaware of Blaine's thoughts, stood nervously hunched over. It was safe to say that he wasn't expecting to be practically knocked over by Blaine's hug and blinding smile.

Blaine pulled away slightly, and beamed at him.

"Oh Kurt! This is...amazing!"

Kurt blinked at Blaine, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry Blaine, did you just say that this is amazing?"

Blaine continued to smile.

"Yes! Oh my God! This is so cool!"

"_Cool_? **Amazing**? Blaine! I don't know if this has escaped your attention, but I HAVE FREAKIN' WINGS HERE! THAT'S NOT NORMAL!"

Blaine, unfazed by Kurt shouting, gently ran the tips of his fingers over the edge of a wing. It made Kurt quiet down, and shiver pleasantly.

"That feels good, doesn't it?"

Kurt nodded.

They stood like that for some time. Blaine gently running his finger slowly and softly over the edges of Kurt's wings, while Kurt was taking in the wonderful foreign feelings that created.

When Kurt finally managed to gain some composer, he regretfully step back, away from Blaine's touch.

"Blaine, not to be unappreciative for the…wing…rub, I guess? Because it did feel really…lovely, but I need to ask you something."

Blaine slipped the hand that had caressed Kurt's wings into his pants pocket.

"Sure Kurt, anything."

Kurt took a breath.

"Why aren't you freaking out about this? I mean, not to be ungrateful, because I am, grateful, really, I am, but if this were the other way around, while I would be supportive, I think I would be a little terrified that my friend might be turning into Big Bird from Sesame Street!"

It was then that Kurt saw the guilty look on Blaine's face.

"Blaine...?"

Blaine turned away from Kurt, and looked off to the side.

"I should have told you."

"...told me what exactly, Blaine? That I would grow wings?"

Trying to inject some humor into the situation, Kurt added, "I don't even drink Red Bull!"

Blaine didn't seem to take the bait of humor. His eyes were downcast, and he was twitting his thumbs apprehensively.

"No to the Red Bull, but yes, I should have told you that you might grow wings."

Kurt stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Explain. NOW."

Blaine guided Kurt over the now stripped bed.

"It usually takes a while...months, even a whole school year, but...The Warblers do more than just sing."

Blaine took both of Kurt's hands into his, looking at him in a awed, loving way.

"When you are a Warbler, a true Warbler, you can **_fly_**."

"H-how?"

"It's something to do with the magic of this school. It's a secret, even among the Warblers, because not just anyone gets Wings."

Still with a look of awe on his face, Blaine ran his hand across Kurt's cheek.

"You have wings now, because the school knows just how special you are. The school has given you a gift. The gift to **Defy Gravity**."

Kurt held the hand that was on his cheek, and looked down shyly.

"Blaine?...Do you have wings?"

Blaine grinned.

"Oh yes. But not nearly as pretty as yours. My God! That has to be the purest shade of white I have ever seen!"

Kurt, while unbelievably happy that he wasn't alone with this wing problem..err, _gift_ from the almighty magic boarding school, was puzzled.

"Why can't I see them?"

"See what"

"Your wings, dimwit!"

Blaine just smiled.

"Oh! I have them put back. I can bring them out, if you wish to see them."

Kurt nodded eagerly.

Blaine stood up, and took off his blazer, tie, and shirt.

Kurt practically drooled as he watched.

Blaine took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and, seemed to tense up, then relax.

The next thing Kurt knew, he was looking at a pair of gorgeous, jet black, shiny wings.

"They're like...Prada, Gucci, and Alexander McQueen, all rolled into one amazing accessory!"

Blaine blushed, and ducked his head.

"Thank you for saying that, but really, your wings are...wow! Mine can not compare!"

It was Kurt's turn to stare. Kurt walked around Blaine, as much as both of their wings allowed, looking and touching Blaine's wings as if their were the most precious work of art in the world.

To Kurt, they were.

"How is it that your wings seem to...curl?"

Blaine shrugged.

"I think it's because my hair is naturally curly. I guess my wings are too."

"How many...others like us are there here?"

Blaine smiled, having the not too distant memory of Kurt saying the exact same thing, when he transferred to Dalton. At the time, he meant Gay students. It was safe to say he never would of thought he was going to ask about the percentage of students that could fly without the aid of an airplane.

"About half of the Warblers. We have secret meeting about grooming, and flight tests once a month. We also try to find clues as to who might get them next."

He touched Kurt cheek again, with a trace of remorse in his eyes.

"That's why this is a bit of a shock. We usually see the signs, and help the new ones though it. It's very painful, I know. I'm so sorry you went through this alone."

Kurt smile, and mirrored Blaine touch on his cheek.

"I'm not alone, and I'm still going through this. You're going to have to teach me how to...how did you phrase it? 'Put my wings back?'"

Nodding, he brought Kurt closer, embracing him, naked chest to naked chest , clothed hip to clothed hip, soothingly rubbing his hand up and down his back, resting is chin on Kurt's shoulder.

"It's all about relaxing, and control. I'll help you every step of the way."

Kurt smiled. For the first time, he felt an adventure coming on. And he liked it.

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**Reviews = Love!**

Also, I except prompts! PN me, or email me if you have any!


	2. Chapter 2

Hello faithful readers!

First of all, I would like to apologize for taking **so long** to update.

The truth is, when I first started writing this, I had a vague idea of where it would go. Strangely enough, that included The Warblers singing _Blackbird _in a later chapter. However, after seeing how AWESOME Glee used the song, I looked at my mediocre use of the song, and decided to scrap that idea, and came up with something even better than what I originally thought! (or, at least to me).

Second of all, I just wanted to say a LARGE Thank You to all the people who have read my little story, fell in love with it, and have given me such possitive reviews and kind words.

While I am so very happy you all seem to love it so much, I am truely surprised, and humbled by the amount of love this story has gotten!

So, to all of you that waited, and to everyone reading this, I am sending you massive *HUGS*

I shall now leave you to here is the continue this strange journey! I hope you enjoy it! =D

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Glee, this would totally have been canon. Alas, our Warblers are wingless. =(

Oh! One other thing, people have asked if Kurt and Blaine are together in this fic. The answer is no, at the moment.

This is a love story though, so stay tuned, because it WILL happen! ; )

This story is canon up until _Silly Love Song_, so for you readers, that means that there is NO JEREMIAH! *throws confetti*

Here is my heartfelt apology to all the Jeremiah fans out there. Kurt's awesome presence, Blaine's brilliant dapper smile, and the collective

amount of Warblers with wings just took up too much space in my story. Sacrifices had to be made, (involving an active Volcano, it was quite a

lovely ceremony. Jeff took pictures, Wes made Waldorf Salad...), so he will not be here in this story. However, many familiar faces _will_ pop up

in this, so be prepared! =D

* * *

Blaine looked down at the sleeping form of his best friend, as he slipped his dress shirt back on, buttoning each button with precision as he had done many times, without taking his eyes of the breathtaking, shirtless vision on the bed.

His core muscles coiled, his heart fluttered, as warm heat infused his senses remembering the feel of Kurt's naked chest pressed against his, as he slowly rocked back and forth, softly singing to him, until his wings pulled back into his body.

It hadn't taken long after that, merely seconds, in fact, for Kurt to feel the wave of exhaustion overtake him, as his adrenaline levels returned to normal. Still holding him in his embrace, Blaine guided his dizzy friend to his desk chair, propped him up, and proceeded to remake Kurt's bare bed with his back-up sheets and blanket.

Remembering the feel of lean, yet strong muscles hiding under Kurt's skin, Blaine leaned over and ran his fingers down the silky smoothness of Kurt's back, marveling in the fact that all traces of the wings bursting through, tearing to the surface, were gone. Even after seeing things like this happen here again and again, and going through this himself, he knew he would always be left in awe, and never get used to the things that the magic of this school could do.

Resisting the urge to kiss down Kurt's vertebrae, and to attempt to suck out all of the pain through his lips, like venom to a snake bite, Blaine stepped back, and reached for his crumpled tie on the floor.

A few minutes later, a fully dressed, dapper version of himself looked back at him from the mirror. Taking some of Kurt's gel from the makeshift travel vanity, Blaine attempted to tame some of his wayward curls. Once he was satisfied that his locks were not going to wage war, and call for revolution, he straightened his tie, and walked back over to the adorable slumbering mass.

He tugged the red, Dalton-issued ,quilted blanket up to his graceful neck, and dared to gently place a kiss on his secret angel's cheek, hoping not to wake him, and get caught.

Kurt was going through so many life altering things at the moment, some that even he didn't expect him to. What Kurt really needed was a friend. An understanding, patient, caring friend, that would help him through everything, and to be the support he needed when he was lost, scared, and all this foundations felt like quicksand.

What he didn't need at the moment, was for his best male friend, (Mercedes made it very clear that she was Kurt's best friend too, and as long as he remembered that, they were cool), to be molesting him in his sleep.

Taking a deep breath, Blaine took a minute to look around the small room.

While Kurt had attempted to clean his dorm room, and had in fact accomplished that pretty well, despite the fact that he had fluffy white wings that knocked things down when he turned around the compact, constricted space, Blaine knew that there were bed sheets that needed to be laundered, pajamas to burn, and evidence to remove from the room, before anyone else came by to check on the sickly, (yet utterly striking) counter-tenor.

After all, it wasn't everyday that a boy got wings in a boarding school. If any news, any shred of evidence managed to get out, the consequences would be dire, for sure, for Kurt, his fellow winged-Warblers, and even for himself.

With that thought in mind, Blaine quickly, and quietly, went to work.

Grabbing a box of tissues, he started to spit into each one, crumbled and wadded them up. He sat on the edge of Kurt's bed, and hap-hazardly threw them into the waste basket, making it look like Kurt had thrown them in himself in a sick induced rage, with poor aim.

He next went into the cupboard underneath Kurt's desk and pulled out his cleaning supplies. After a few minutes of cleaning the walls, windows, and desk of any remaining blood spatter droplets with disinfectant spray, he reached into the front pocket of his messenger bag and grabbed one of his emergency zipper-locked sandwich baggies, (for occasions such as this), and put the soiled paper towels in. After the incident with David and his transformation, they had all learned the valuable lesson that it was **imperative** to take all evidence with you, even something as innocent as a dirty paper towel.

It was a good thing that Nick was so clever, claiming all of the bloody towels were from his nose-bleed, because Blaine didn't believe that their History Professor would have bought the excuse of a rather dastardly paper-cut.

After angling Kurt's picture frames, and restacking some of the books and nick-nacks that Kurt missed, or knocked over, in his initial clean up, Blaine tackled the final hurdle.

The blood soaked bedding.

Blaine carefully laid out the expensive, Dior Gray, Egyptian cotton bed sheets, (Kurt brought these from home. Blaine could remember Kurt's very first day, when he scoffed that the "inferior" bed sheets that he swore he would never let close to his skin with a fifty-foot gilded poll, because the Dalton-issued standard white ones felt like "sandpaper", and he could actually _feel _the mediocrity radiating from the cloth . He knew Kurt would not be thrilled to wake up laying on them, and would probably claim to have a rash due to the cheap material. Nothing could be done, though, because his precious ones were grubby), on the floor, followed by his charcoal Calvin Kline bed spread. Placing the ruined silk pajamas in the middle, he folded everything over long ways, then in the middle, and then rolled everything up like a tightly wound up sleeping bag, or a badly burnt burrito.

Blaine swiftly took his school books and notebooks out of his leather messenger bag, (for he knew that he wouldn't be needing them today. There was no way he was going to any of his classes, he had waaaay too many things to do, like destroy evidence, warn and update his fellow winged brethren, and an adorably hot best friend to take care of), and promptly stuffed the neatly folded and rolled bedding in their placed. Even thought he always prided himself on the fact that his bag had lots of storage space, and many hidden pockets to stow things in, it was still a really tight fit, but he managed.

Hoisting the strap of his heavy load over his shoulder, Blaine walked over to the tiny little canary, flitting about in his cage.

"Well buddy, I bet you're seen a lot of action today! I bet you would have a pretty eventful story to tell! If bird's could talk, right?"

Pavarotti chirped back up at him, and then darted his little beak, and beady eyes towards the bed.

Blaine looked over, and sighed. Bringing his face closer to the cage, Blaine whispered to the mascot.

"Yeah, I'm worried about him to, Pavarotti. I should have kept a better eye on him. Honestly, all of the signs were there, weren't they?"

At the time, Blaine had been worried about Kurt. Nobody expected Kurt to be back until right before curfew, because he usually stayed in Lima for as long as he could without it being too dangerous driving on the road, or risk getting detention for being out of his dorm after hours. It was a known fact that Kurt liked to spend as much time as he could with his family. It was a surprise to have a rather paler than usual Kurt Hummel knocking on his dorm room door.

When he showed back up at Dalton that Sunday evening, he looked as if he had barely slept a wink, and might have possibly skipped a couple of his ritual night time moisturizing treatments. His skin was practically _translucent_, making the slight amount of freckles on his nose look like sprinkled cinnamon or nutmeg on frothy foam. His eyes had dark , baggy grey circles as framing, and his eyes themselves seemed a little glassy and dulled compared to their customary brilliance .

Blaine, of course, made Kurt immediately sit down, and asked if he was alright. Kurt, ever the drama queen, told him of his perils of getting the flu, and how thankful he was that it seems to be letting up, and he gingerly laid down on his stomach on Blaine's bed.

He could have kicked himself. He should have seen the signs. Even though Kurt never once mentioned extreme back pain, everything else fit to a tee.

Guilt settled into his stomach. He could have helped. He could have gotten the others, and they could have made the transition easier on his poor angel. Sure, none of them could have taken his pain away, but they could have _been there_ for him, _he_ could have been there for him, instead of Kurt going through that trauma **_all alone_**.

He couldn't cry, not now, even as he felt the welling and stinging in his eyes and heart.

It was his fault that Kurt had been alone. He had been so distracted by his own attraction and affections for the counter-tenor, that the glaringly obvious was overlooked. It didn't matter that it should have been too early for Kurt to be graced with wings, or that he might possibly not get them at all.

Had he not learned that Kurt Hummel was the loophole to every rule in the Universe? Was that not one of the many reasons that he loved him so?

No, all Blaine did was get giddy as he convinced Kurt to stay for _Doctor Who_, and snuggle until it was time for Kurt to go to bed.

Blaine gazed back that the beautiful creature on the bed.

He had overlooked, ignored, and miscalculated, and Kurt paid the price.

Blaine touched his nose against the shiny wire of the cage.

"I'm going to take care of him, Pavarotti. I promise."

Pavarotti chirped, and brushed Blaine's nose, seemingly in a comforting gesture.

Blaine laughed, wiped the moisture from his eyes, and smiled down at the bird.

"How do you feel about hanging out in my room for a little bit? Kurt's been though a lot, and we need him to get plenty of rest! Let go and sing along to my iPod, ok? I'm feeling in a _Maroon 5_ mood."

Quietly opening the door, Blaine stepped into the hallway, and adjusted the strap digging into his neck.

There were so many things that he had to do. He needed to call an emergency meeting with his brethren, had to burn bloody pajamas, finish his English paper, sneak off to launder bedding, had to go buty detergent that took out blood stains, get Kurt something supplies, as well as something to eat and drink, and had to so all of this within the next twelve hours. While his English paper could wait, and he had the confidence that it all could be done, he realized there was one other thing, an important thing, that he had to take care of first.

Damage control.

Why?

Because the Headmaster was walking his way, towards Kurt's dorm.

Slipping the hand that wasn't holding Pavarotti's cage into his pocket, Blaine fingered the _soft_, long, **perfect** white feather, and carefully grasped it into his palm.

"_Courage", _he thought to himself, as he smiled his most dapper of smiles.

It was time for Blaine to perform.

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Reviews= Love!

Does anyone know any fan artists that might want to illustrate?


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